"I'm going to kill you." Jinx snarls.
"Get in line."
Jinx pushes off the wall and stalks toward me. For a second I think he actually might throw a punch, might start a brawl right here in the kitchen. Instead, he stops inches from my face and speaks low enough that only I can hear.
"You think you're funny?"
"I think I'm hilarious."
"You're going to pay for that."
"Promise, sweet pea?"
His jaw works. His hands clench at his sides. He wants to hit me. He wants to kiss me. He can't decide which, and the indecision is beautiful.
"Later," he growls, and turns back to the briefing like nothing happened.
I catch Marlee's eye. She's shaking her head slowly, the look on her face somewhere between disbelief and grudging respect.
"You're insane," she mouths.
I shrug. Probably.
But Jinx is looking at me now. After a whole morning of avoidance, I finally have his attention.
Worth it. So fucking worth it.
Marlee corners me in the barn an hour later.
She's got that look on her face, the one that means she's about to say things I don't want to hear. I've seen it before, usually right before she tells me I'm being an idiot. We've known each other too long for bullshit, which means she's going to give it to me straight whether I want it or not.
"Talk to me," she says.
"About what?"
"About the six-foot-five murder machine you're apparently fucking."
I set down the rifle I'm cleaning. "It's complicated."
"No shit it's complicated. He almost killed you, Asher. I was there when they brought you back from that fight. Three broken ribs, fractured skull, blood everywhere. The medics didn't think you'd make it through the night. I sat by your bed for two weeks waiting to see if you'd wake up or if I'd have to bury another friend."
"I remember."
"Do you? Because it seems like you've forgotten what he's capable of."
"I haven't forgotten." I meet her eyes. "I remember every second of that fight. I remember what it felt like when he had me down, when he could have finished it. The crowd screaming for blood. The handlers betting on how long it would take for my heart to stop. And I remember what it felt like when he didn't. When he looked at me..."
"So, what, you've got some kind of survivor's bond? Trauma kink? Help me understand, because right now you look like a man walking into a fire and pretending he can't feel the heat."
"It's not a trauma kink."
"Then what is it?"
I don't answer right away. The barn is quiet around us, the odd bird chirping as it flies in and out of the rafters. Outside, I can hear the others preparing, the clink of weapons being loaded, the murmur of voices running through the plan one more time.
How do you explain six years of obsession? Six years of wondering why a weapon chose mercy? Six years of seeing his face every time you closed your eyes and not knowing if it was nightmare or fantasy?
"He saw me," I say finally. "In that pit, when I was bleeding out and ready to die, he looked at me and saw a person. Not an opponent. Not a target. Me." I pick up the rifle again, runthe cloth along the barrel. "Nobody had ever done that before. Nobody's done it since. Until I came here."
